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preqwells · 4 months ago

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downtime | logan howlett x reader

summary: logan had been meaning to show you the wooden cabin he'd visit when given the time— he didn't anticipate how enraptured he'd be with the the absence of chaos in his life

cw: slightly suggestive

domesticity looked good on logan in your eyes.

chopping wood for the fire you two would burn at night, making sure the weeds didn't interfere with the tomatoes you had been growing, and sometimes even fishing despite his lack of patience for it. his jeans hung low around his waist, hair speckled across his chest through his open-collared shirt—you had to admit, you liked this side of him. you two had decided you wanted to get away for a while since logan wasn't particularly needed at the moment. he had been wanting to show you the cabin he frequented when he wasn’t busy, daydreaming to himself with the thought of what your reaction would be to it. you weren't surprised at the nature of the wooden cabin. it was secluded and neatly tucked away in a corner of a vast forest that no one would dare to enter unless they were in for a rude awakening. maybe you were kidding yourself with the idea that you two might be able to go off-grid for a while, but it was a thought you both were willing to entertain.

you smiled to yourself as your eyes tore away from the much-welcomed sight of your boyfriend leaning back on the couch, hulking thighs spread as his head lolled back. your attention trailed back to the deer he had caught earlier in hopes you could do something with it. "should i slow-cook it? maybe even make it into a pot roast?" you suddenly spoke up from the kitchen, your lips pursed in thought as a lighthearted scoff left him, his eyebrow quirking up for a moment. "askin' the wrong person. never been known to be much of a chef, sweetheart." he gruffed out, too tired to allow his eyes to roll into the back of his head at the thought of even picking up on anything remotely related to cooking. "mm, you're right," you said through a small chuckle, your eyes still examining the raw meat, "could always just set up the grill out back. chop it up, make 'em into kebabs… but we don't have any skewers. if only there was something that we could use…" you playfully trailed off as you pressed your index finger to your lower lip as if conjuring a thought. logan quickly caught onto the fact that you were talking about using his claws as kebab skewers to which he shook his head in response, shooting you an amused glance.

he rose to his feet, floorboards groaning under his weight with each movement. "ha-ha, you're hilarious. damn near a comedian." he retorted as he made his way to you, placing his empty beer bottle on the counter before his arms wrapped around you, giving you a small squeeze. his front pressed to your back, your heart fluttering at the sudden contact. the contours of his muscles molded into your frame nicely, warmth emanating from him as his breath fanned against the nape of your neck. "well… i was thinking about signing up for the local comedy club. could be my big breakthrough, y'know?" you sighed in faux contemplation as you felt the softness of his lips pepper kisses from your nape to your pulse-point, his hands lingering on your waist. his thumbs found the belt loops in your jeans, tugging on them absentmindedly. "y'right, bet the squirrels and mornin' birds would love to hear the material you been practicin' on me." he murmured into your skin, eyes fluttering shut as he deeply inhaled your scent. seeing as how sensitive he was to scents, there were lots of scents he couldn't stand. hated the smell of gasoline, hated any kind of gaudy perfume— if he thought about it for too long, his nose would probably scrunch up out of disgust. yet he was particularly fond of your scent, fresh linen and cotton. your scent was as pleasing as your personality. you were good for logan. kind, compassionate— you smoothed out his rough edges. god knew he had too many.

domesticity looked good on you in logan's eyes. the wood you'd carry to the fire pit for your late-night chats recounting the events of the day, the tomatoes you'd complain about that wouldn't ripen and sometimes even fall off too early from local wildlife taking their swipes at it, and your insistence on him learning some proper patience for fishing since you still had a taste for wild-caught salmon. his hands found the hem of your flannel, sliding under the fabric as his fingertips grazed the softness of your skin, traveling down past your navel. warmth flooded your cheeks as a sheepish smile played at the corners of your lips, your hands on the counter to brace yourself. "logan— logan! i still have to marinate the meat." you hastily whispered before a breathy moan escaped you as his tongue rolled over your skin, teeth nipping at the crook of your neck. "mmm, don't worry 'bout it." he spoke into your neck before gently lifting you onto the counter, his eyes filled with affection. he didn't know how it happened, honestly. couldn't pinpoint it even if he tried to recall what you did that caused him to be so smitten with you. he quietly admired you for a few moments, taking in how hues of orange from the sun setting filtered through the window and cascaded onto the side of your face, his hand raising to cup the swell of your cheek. you didn't know it, but logan had made a quiet vow to himself to do everything in his power to make sure you were safe, in this life and the next.

he'd show you tonight how much he adored you, in more ways than just one.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine #james logan howlett #james logan howlett x reader #xmen x reader #logan howlett x you #x men #wolverine x you #wolverine xmen

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astrum-medeis · 8 months ago

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Your perfume notes based on your Venus sign/2nd house (remaster)

Aries/1H

Masculine, heavy, sexy scents. Notes: tobacco, gasoline, leather, whiskey, pepper, cumin, smoke, vanilla, tonka bean

My recommendation: Replica Under the Stars (for the brave), Carolina Herrera Midnight or CH Very Good Girl

Taurus/2H

Feminine, natural and seductive scents. Scent notes: cocoa, shea butter, vanilla, caramel, musk, tonka bean, sugar

My recommendation: Eilish Billie Eilish or Sol de Janeiro 71 mist

Gemini/3H

Both masculine and feminine scents. Scents: sweets, florals, fruits

My recommendation: Ariana Grande Cloud, Mugler Angel Nova

Cancer/4H

Feminine scents. Scent notes: aquatic florals, ginger, cookies, cinnamon, sea breeze, sea salt, coconut, vanilla

My recommendation: Sol de Janeiro 71/39/62 mist or Sol de Janeiro perfume

Leo/5H

Masculine, luxurious and seductive scents. Scent notes: vanilla, champaca, cherry, rose, honey, saffron, cashmere

My recommendation: Valentino Born in Roma Intense or Carolina Herrera Very Good Girl Glam

Virgo/6H

Feminine, floral, sweet and fresh scents. Notes: linen, cotton, peony, rose, jasmin (basically your favourite flower scent), fruits

My recommendation: Miss Dior Rose N’Roses or Sol de Janeiro 68 mist

Libra/7H

Masculine but more like dark feminine femme fatale scents. Notes: jasmin, rose, vanilla, cashmere, coffee, dark chocolate

My recommendation: Carolina Herrera Good Girl

Scorpio/8H

Feminine but seductive and mysterious scents. Scent notes: coffee, dark chocolate, smoke, blood, black licorice, blackberry, witch hazel

My recommendation: Carolina Herrera Good Girl Velvet Fatale, Replica Coffee Break

Sagittarius/9H

Masculine, oriental and exotic scents. Notes: amber, wine, fig, orange blossom, incense, any wood

My recommendation: Replica On a date

Capricorn/10H

Masculine, expensive, strong, earthy scents. Scent notes: peppermint, citrus, eucalyptus, wet earth, leather, cash

My recommendation: Replica Under Lemon Tress

Aquarius/11H

Masculine, unique and strange scent combinations, nonobvious combinations of scent notes. Scent notes: any fresh scent like peppermint, citrus, aquatic and green notes, chlorine

My recommendation: Mugler Angel suits Aquarius SOOO well. It’s kinda like an alien scent. Very pretty but confusing.

Pisces/12H

Feminine, dreamy and sweet scents. Scent notes: honey, bubble gum, cotton candy, sweets, fruits

My recommendation: Ariana Grande Pink Cloud, Sol de Janeiro 68 mist

What is your venus sign and what scent do YOU like? Let me know!

#astro observations #astrology #astro notes #astro community #astroblr #astrology community #astrology observations #astrology notes #venus #venus signs

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taure-annie · 19 days ago

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Gasoline

→ premise: Paige’s first team dinner as an official WNBA rookie has ended well - but now, in the back of an Uber, it's just the two of you and the energy between you feels different. (WNBA!AU)

→ word count: 2.3K

The team thins out slowly, one by one, as players and coaches drift from the comforting heat of the restaurant entrance to into Ubers, their mindless conversations fading with each utterance of ‘bye’ and ‘see you at practice’.

It’s damp and biting, with a faint mist hovering, leaving you shivering even in your thick jacket. Your fingers feel stiff from the chill, fumbling as you toggle through ride-share apps, willing one driver—just one—to brave the thick, traffic-choked streets for the pick-up.

Bri glances over, her body bouncing slightly as her teeth chatter, breath fogging in the air. “You still looking?” she asks, taking quick peeks at her phone - her ride is a cosy 5 minutes away.

You sigh, clutching your phone tightly against the creeping numbness. “Yeah - I’m gonna be standing here for fucking forever. You think I’m playing, but I swear this is the last time I’m coming out to this side of town.”

Bri snickers, pulling her coat tight. “Should’ve just ordered whe—” She breaks off, glancing over your shoulder with a glint in her eye. “Why don’t you share a ride with the rook - aren't you’re both on the same side of town?”

You turn, catching sight of Paige - the rook in question - standing just a few paces away, head bent over her own screen, her face bathed in soft light. She glances up at the sound of her new nickname, her eyes meeting yours briefly, and you turn back to Bri, ready to wave it off. “Nah, I’ll just wai-”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Paige cuts in. She steps closer, creating a circle between you, her and Bri. “You live around Ross Way right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding, “but it’s a bit of a drive, they’re gonna charge you crazy. It’d be too much.”

Paige shrugs, undeterred. She’s closer now. “It’s fine - better than waiting all night.”

“Listen to the rook,” Bri pipes up, her elbow nudging you as she speaks. “She’s got wisdom.”

You throw her quick look, but the protest within you dies when your Uber app still reads ‘Still finding a rider’. Would it be that bad to share a ride?

“Enter your address,” Paige hands you her phone and your fingers shakily type your address.

“Thanks,” you say, handing her phone back.

Eventually, Bri is gone. Her body warm in the back of her ride as she speeds off home and then it’s just you and Paige, waiting out the longest 7 minutes known to man.

Her hands are nestled in her trouser pockets, and she rocks on the balls of her feet. Despite her every breath being magnified with tufts of mist, her jacket hangs at the crook of her elbow.

“You’re not cold?”

She’s momentarily torn away from her unending gaze into packed streets and passes you a quick smile. “Nah - all the rounds you bought are keeping me warm enough.”

“You’re welcome,” You say, your mind briefly going into the eventual conversation you’d have with your accountant justifying the reckless spending with the words ‘team bonding’.

Soon enough, your - well, Paige's, Uber appears, rolling to a stop with its engine humming softly. Paige gestures for you to get in first, and the comforting warmth of the car rushes over you as you slide into the back seat - you silently thank Bri at this point. The door clicks shut, sealing you into the dimly lit space, and you’re only just settling in when Paige follows, close enough that she brushes against you in the tight space. Her faint perfume mingles with the scent of leather seats and the lingering trace of your own.

You’re the first to crack the almost awkward silence, feeling pushed to do solely because you’d hijacked her ride home and it’d be nothing less than rude for you to pull out your airpods. “So, how’d you find your first team dinner?”

She looks up from her phone screen. “It was good,” she pauses thinking for a moment before a corner of her lip goes up. “Do you guys usually go that hard though?”

You scoff and shake your head, “it’s literally because it’s your first dinner - we wanted to give you a good welcome onto the team.” Your head tilts back onto the headrest, feeling the almost sickly rush of alcohol wash over you. “Everyone’s too old and tired to do this every time.”

“Ah, I see,” she’s nodding with mock gravity. “Well, I appreciate it. Coach was near enough on the floor. That fucking killed me.”

“Met too,” You laugh, pulling out your phone, the cold glow lighting up your face. “I nearly died at that too. I think Bri posted it on her close friends…” You scroll through your feed, fingers stumbling over the screen as you swipe, searching.

You feel the seat shift as Paige leans in, close enough that you catch a faint trace of her perfume, something woody and expensive. Her shoulder brushes yours, and for some reason, the small point of contact is almost electric. It’s then that you’re suddenly all too aware of how small the back of the uber is, and maybe it’s the remnants of Tequila still flowing through you, but you realise just how close she is. It’s not the same kind of closeness as when you’re talking to someone like Bri or AJ. No, it’s different and what makes it so different is that you’re actually taking notice of the soft brush of her breath settling on your cheek as she glances over at your screen.

Your skin lights up in goosebumps.

The scrolling slows, your fingers hovering just above the keypad, attempting to conjure Bri’s instagram handle, but they falter as you - no, both, because there’s no way she doesn’t see her name bolded two times in your search bar. You'd typed it in wrong the first time (which explains entry 1), fumbling over the letters before quickly googling the correct spelling, but now it's right there, staring back at you.

You can feel the smirk when she speaks, “I didn’t know you were a fan too.”

“Fan? I was just doing research-”

Your still speaking when your phone is out of her hands and into her longer ones. She humming in mock agreement as she clicks on her profile, bringing the page of pictures you’d looked through up on your screen. For what it was worth, you had been doing research, nothing nefarious but in the face of said person noticing their name in your search bar, it was less than believable. It’s embarrassing really - it wouldn’t have been crazy if you had just followed her.

“There” She presses the follow button, “You can now officially keep tabs on me.” her voice is soft, playful, but with an edge that makes you feel pinned.

When she passes your phone back, the graze of her fingertips feel unjustifiably electric.

“Don’t worry, you’re not the first in the team to not follow me back yet,” she says, the brief flicker of resigned annoyance betrays her ‘this-doesn’t-bother-me-at-all’ attitude. “So,” she says, her tone dropping to something a bit more curious, “what do the others really think of me? You know, the team.”

You glance at her, surprised by the sudden question, but her eyes are fixed on you, unwavering, waiting for an honest answer.

“They think you’re good. There’s respect there and we’re happy to have you on the team.”

She watches you closely, and for a moment, it’s like she’s evaluating you, sizing you up. Then she leans back with a smirk, eyes still on you.

“You don’t wanna tell me what you really think, do you?” she asks, the challenge clear in her voice.

There’s a shift in the air, and your heartbeat picks up, but you swallow, glancing at her and keeping your stare just as steady. “No, I think you’re good … You’re the first draft pick for a reason.”

She tilts her head, the playful expression not fading, but there’s a weight to her gaze now. Something sharp, something that leaves you feeling exposed and caught up in the current between you two.

You’re caught in the silence that follows, the kind that presses in on you, thick and unnerving. It’s the kind of silence that reporters use - just a gap, a beat too long, forcing you to fill it, to offer up something more, even when you don’t want to. Paige’s eyes never leave you, and the tension feels like it’s building with each passing second. It scares you.

Her lips curl into a barely-there smile, almost mocking, but her stare remains intense , just daring you to break.

But she breaks first. You’re not new to the silent tactic.

“So…?” she prompts, her voice deliberate. “Just be honest. I’m not gonna start crying.”

You feel the weight of her stare, the expectation in the air.

“I think… I think there’s a lot of hype around you, that’s all.” Your words come out slow, careful and just as deliberate as her, “I mean, you’re great, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t necessarily think it can hold when you’re really out there on the court.”

“That’s what you think? That I’m just a product of hype?”

The way she says it makes you feel like she’s trying to pull more out of you, like she’s testing how far you’ll go. You glance at her, feeling both intrigued and nothing less than disarmed. You curse the alcohol.

“I’m just saying,” you shrug, keeping your tone casual, “being the ‘golden girl’ can’t be all it’s cracked up to be. College basketball isn’t the same as being in the ‘W’.”

She doesn’t immediately respond, instead letting the silence hang between you two, the weight of your words sinking in. The car’s hum and the city noises outside seem to fade, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, locked in this quiet tension.

“I guess we’ll see,” She says.

If you were asked to describe life at this moment, you’d say that you were continuously all too aware of everything and anything. And it’s all because of her.

“I don’t mind proving things,” she continues.

The car pulls up to a stoplight, and for a split second, the moment feels suspended in time with her words hanging in the small space between you both. You can’t help but think it feels like a promise - or maybe a dare. Not about the court, but about something more that you don’t want to pinpoint.

“That’s good,” you’ve broken the staring contest of sorts, now looking out the window as the car pulls off again, taking you one mile extra to escaping whatever this was.

You glance at her from the corner of your eye, but this time, her gaze is fixed, unwavering, almost daring you to do something—anything. Her lips twitch, like she’s caught between amusement and something else, something that sends a thrill through you.

For the first time, you let your own eyes fall to her lips, and that’s all it takes. You don’t even think; you just lean in, slow and steady, as if testing the waters.

Her breath hitches, her hand subtly shifting closer, and in the next instant, she meets you halfway. There’s no hesitation. It’s a kiss that comes out of nowhere, full of fire and heat, but still tentative, still testing. The moment your lips meet, everything else fades.

The kiss deepens as she brushes lightly against your cheek, pulling you just a little closer. You feel the heat of her skin, the softness of her lips, and for a moment, everything is just her. It’s different from anything you expected - it’s intense and she’s in charge, and you’re following her like you’d never produced a single thought.

Just as quickly as it started, you pull away, breathless, your lips tingling. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you’re unsure whether you want to be closer to her or further away. The air between you is thick, electrified with the aftermath of the kiss, and all you can hear is the sound of your breathing mingling in the small space.

“Fuck - sorry, just ignore what the fuck that was.”

But before you can pull completely away, Paige’s hand is on your jaw, holding you in place as she leans in again, this time with a quiet intensity that catches you off guard. Her lips meet yours again, more deliberate this time. And when she nips at your bottom lip, you gasp, before letting her completely take you over as her tongue glides across yours.

She’s pulling you into her and only her and you’re letting her.

“Don’t apologise,” she murmurs, against your mouth.

Her hands take over, one holding you in place and the other at your knee, inching up closer and closer with what felt like each intoxicating breath.

The car’s headlights cut through the darkness as it pulls up to the curb, the engine slowing to a stop in front of a modern, apartment building surrounded by tall, shadowed trees. You blink, slowly but surely coming back to yourself, but you’re still lodged in her all encompassing touch willing yourself to pull away.

For a moment, the air between you is heavy, the night outside the car feeling distant, almost unreal.

“I’m guessing this your …” You start, your eyes darting to the building.

“Apartment,” She finishes, breaking the stare and now it feels like she’s also back down to earth.

She’s on her phone, the Uber app recognisable as she fiddles with the interface.

“Guess that’s our stop,” Paige says.

“Our?”

She nods, “Yeah, ours”

There’s no uncertainty in her voice, no hesitation. Just the faintest hint of amusement playing on her lips as she taps away on her phone.

Before you can respond, the sound of the app’s notification cuts through the silence. Paige cancels the rest of the ride with a casual swipe of her finger. And you don’t protest.

***

A/N

Club Classics ... well, that was fun. I wonder what happens next 🤭🤭

And do any of you diva's listen to Mk.Gee?

#paige bueckers #paige x reader #uconn wbb #uconn x reader #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers angst #ncaa wbb #ncaaw #wcbb #uconn huskies

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mandarinmoons · 4 months ago

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angst, related to the idea i said earlier about her getting abducted and spencer helping save her - reader has some ptsd from the traumatic event that happened on the case, so spencer is there with her staying the night sometime after and so she wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, panicked because of a nightmare and he tries to comfort her and she’s apprehensive before allowing him to hold her but obviously she’s like out of it. that’s the beginning of the rockiness, and then like if you want to write something longer you could continue from there? or maybe just keep it a blurb if you do choose to write this. 🩷 :)

You sat up on the bed, gasping for air as you tried to make out where you were. The room was dark and you couldn’t make out anything due to it, which made your breathing more labored.

“Y/N… are you okay?”

Turning your head, you made out Spencer’s worried face in the dim lighting. He was here so you must be safe.

When you didn’t answer, Spencer sat up and inched near you, but not too close as to not freak you out even more. Ever since you got home after the whole situation you’d been through you’d flinch at even the slightest touch by anyone. Spencer was hurt to see you turn away from him when all he wanted to do was comfort you, but he knew it was nothing to do with him and tried his best to give you as much time as you needed to feel comfortable again, to feel safe again.

Spencer lightly placed his hand on the small of your back, a slight shiver going down your body and your heart beat picked up due to nerves, but slowly and surely you managed to calm down and found the act of Spencer lightly caressing you comforting.

“You’re okay sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

Your lip trembled at his words. Every time you closed your eyes you were brought back to the warehouse the unsub had taken you to, the smell of gasoline seeming to waft through every corner of the building. The pale blue walls that had obvious signs of water damage and what seemed like dried blood, you wondered how many people had been taken here before you and what their fates had been like and if yours would be the same.

As Spencer sensed the trembling starting to rock your body, he took a chance and scooped you into his arms, your chest against his while he held onto you tight.

This sudden contact made you burst into tears. At first, you tried to push yourself away from him, but a moment later you smelled what seemed to be Spencer's aftershave and the fragrance had an immediate comforting effect on you.

It reminded you of when the team came to save you, Spencer was the one who untied the ropes you were bound in and you flew into his arms the second you were free. The sobs that racked your body seemed to be endless and the only thing seeming to calm you down was Spencer’s perfume. It helped to cover your nose of the piercing smell of the gasoline that you had been suffocated in for days.

As your breathing calmed down and the tears dried on your cheeks, your head rested on Spencer’s shoulder and the feeling of his fingers caressing your back playing with your hair, felt more than welcome now, if not felt more of a necessity.

Spencer stared at the dark wall, counting your pulse in his head and trying to determine if you were calming down or if he had made a wrong move and freaked you out even more. The last thing he wanted to do was cause you any more pain when he was the one person you had let so close after returning home.

You woke up every night, several times due to the nightmares. Unbenounced to you, Spencer was too, if not barely sleeping. He was awake at least half of the night, making sure you were getting some well deserved rest. The second he sensed it was too stuffy in the room he’d open the window and as soon as he saw you shaking even the slightest bit, he bolted to close it and pull up the covers on your body.

He laid there, more than half of the night, counting every breath you took to make sure you were sleeping peacefully. To make sure the man who took you was no longer occupying every crevice of your mind, to make sure you were out of harm's way. It was difficult, yes, Spencer didn’t know how long it would be until he would have a breakdown from the exhaustion, but he couldn’t let himself break, he wouldn’t let himself break, because you needed him and he needed you even more for his sanity.

Taglist: @radioactiveinvisible @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @sp3ncelle @iluvreid @khxna @keiva1000 @reidstheyfriend @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @kimm4710 @niktwazny303 @reidsdaisies @mindfullycriminal @cumulo-stratus @themarauderseraslut @gayfor-rosadiaz @gubsbuubs @multifandomsimp69 @chyozai @deppfanatic @potatovoyager @indyvelazquez @nini123 @justlivinginadaydream @kers505 @dan-the-womans-blog

Notice: I am no longer adding people into my taglist and will be discontinuing it soon so if you'd like to be kept up to date with my future works then please follow me x

You can find my masterlist here!

Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

#spencer reid #spencer reid au #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x gender neutral reader #spencer reid angst

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lovebugism · 7 months ago

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u said 2 do ur worst for shy!r so…. steve and reader go to the hawkins snowball dance and a slow song comes on and its a uber romantic song (i’m talking taylor swift type romance) and steve ofc asks r to dance… she’s super shy so she keeps looking at the floor but then steve does the thing where you lift the other persons chin up so they’re looking into ur eyes… if u wanna elaborate on this :)

i changed this up a wee bit, but i hope u like it! — when steve is finally crowned prom king, all he can think about is getting a dance with his (sorta) secret girlfriend (shy!fem!r, hurt/comfort, 1.2k)

Steve abandons his crown and scepter somewhere between the bleachers and the snack table. The thought of finding you is far more important than the chunks of plastic they give him.

The cold breeze of the early evening cools his warm cheeks, flushed red from the adrenaline and the alcohol. He finds you sitting on the wooden bench outside the gymnasium, pretty and all alone. The skirt of your fairy-tale dress billows around your calves. Elbows digging into your thighs, you prop your chin on your fists and pout softly beneath the pale moonlight.

You’re the prettiest thing Steve’s ever seen. The saddest, too, maybe.

“Been looking for you,” he says to announce his presence. The lopsided smile on his face is audible. You know it’s dancing on his pink mouth before you ever turn around to face him.

He’s a pretty thing in a sleek tux. Boyishly handsome. Sort of like he’s playing dress-up. The thought almost makes you smile.

“Sorry,” you apologize in a mousy voice, blinking up at him with sparkly, made-up eyes when he looms over you. “It got… really loud in there…”

“Well, Tommy spiked the punch, so… It was kinda inevitable,” Steve jokes with a lazy shrug, even though he isn’t really joking.

He watched the idiot steal his dad’s best liquor from the high-up cabinet two hours ago. The Hawkins High class of ’85 got drunk on it in record time. The school pulses with life accordingly. The brick behind you threatens to shake with it.

Your nose scrunches. “Is that why it tasted like gasoline?”

“Probably,” Steve grins.

He huffs and sits at the spare spot next to you. The old bench creaks in protest. He takes his first good breath all night when he’s finally alone with you. The fresh air and your perfume fill his lungs, smoother than silk. There’s a subtle euphoria and a distant nostalgia between it all.

He’s spent years chasing this feeling. He thought maybe being crowned prom king would solve all his problems. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. ‘Cause you did.

“You coming back inside?”

Your lips purse to the side of your mouth as you ponder the question. “I don’t know… Probably not.”

Steve’s freshly shaven face swirls with visible confusion. He loves a party — especially when he’s the life of it — so it’s hard for him to comprehend how other people don’t. Even though he knows, more than anyone else, that you’re made of something much more delicate than that.

“Why not?”

“Prom’s not really my scene, Steve,” you answer with a scoffed-out laugh.

He flashes you a crooked smile in return, painted silver in the moonlight. His cologne swaddles you in its musk when he leans over to nudge your shoulder. “You promised me a dance, remember?”

Your soft features harden into a frown. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, c’mon! You know you wanna dance with me,” he protests through a poorly bitten-back laugh.

“Why?” you press, meeting his beam with a lighthearted scowl. “So all your friends can laugh at me?”

“Screw ‘em! They’re assholes— who cares?”

“I care. ‘Cause you’re not the one they’re laughing at, King Steve.”

You spit the stupid nickname with playful venom in your tone, but Steve can’t help but smile at it, anyway. He’s a week away from graduating, halfway employed, and Hawkins High’s reigning prom king. It’s all slightly maddening — especially now that he’s got you.

He wonders if you applauded when he won that stupid crown. If you laughed at him about it, or if you were strangely proud. He’ll ask you about it later. After he gets that dance.

“Let ‘em laugh,” he shrugs.

You shake your head, averting your gaze with a sad smile. You wish it were that easy.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” you tell him as the heavy bass inside the school starts to slow. Through the high-up frosted windows, you hear Girls on Film fade into Never Tear Us Apart.

“Sorry for wanting to dance with my girlfriend,” he teases to ease the tension. It comes out more serious than he intended, though, ‘cause he is sort of sorry. Nothing about your two worlds exactly meshes — yet here he is, still hopelessly trying to tangle them together.

You know this, so you sigh. “Sorry for not being prom queen,” you joke back, only partly serious. You blink at him with a pair of twinkling eyes — slightly smudged with mascara. The sparkles of your eyeshadow glint when they catch the moonlight.

“Don’t want you to be prom queen,” Steve confesses softly, smiling at you somehow softer. “I like you the way you are right now.”

You get a warm, tingly feeling in your stomach. It wells up your chest and into your throat until you feel like you might cry.

You roll your eyes at him when they start to burn, laughing softly to distract from the overwhelming feeling. Your gaze flits to the velvet night sky, speckled with twinkling stars, until you get the courage to look back at the boy beside you. His face glitters with something hopeful.

You swallow hard and ask, “You still want that dance or what?”

Steve glows with a boyish excitement. “Yeah! Are you kidding? Of course, I do.”

“Out here, though,” you tell him when he rises from the bench.

He smiles at the stern look in your delicate eyes. “Why? You ashamed of me or somthin’?” he jokes, as if he wasn’t named just prom king.

You stand before him with your arms crossed over the pretty corset of your dress. You bite back a smile. “I just wanna spend time with my boyfriend without it being on the cover of The Weekly Streak tomorrow,” you confess.

“Fair enough,” Steve nods, smoothing his wide hands over your sides.

Yours are much less confident. They tremble with a misplaced worry as they spread over his shoulders. Your fingers fidget on the satin lapels of his expensive suit. His longer ones guide you back and forth, swaying you gently to the slow beat of the muffled song.

—Don’t ask me, what you know is true…

Don’t have to tell you, I love your precious heart—

You get lost in it all before you mean to. The warmth of having him so close, swaddled in his big hands and deep cologne.

His honeyed gaze hasn’t yet wavered from you, but you don’t have the heart to meet it. He’s looking at you like he loves you. Like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Like you’re the fucking prom queen.

You don’t feel particularly deserving of any of it.

“Are you still having fun?” you ask with a scrunched nose, visibly riddled with feelings of inadequacy. You still haven’t quite figured out why he’d rather be out here with you than inside with everyone else — with Vicki Carmichael, the actual prom queen.

“Loads,” Steve answers without missing a beat. His hands squeeze reassuringly at your hips as he flashes you a crooked grin. “It’s not even a question, honestly. I’d choose you over those schmucks in there any day of the week.”

He nods his slicked-back hair to the pulsing brick a few feet away. A few gelled chestnut strands drape over his forehead. You fight the urge to push them back.

“Really?” you squeak with your pretty face, all dolled up, twisted with an innocent look of confusion.

You have no idea how beautiful you are, Steve thinks to himself.

“Yeah,” he nods, grinning wide and wearing all his adoration on his chiseled, golden face. He could hide it if he tried. “Tommy Hagan isn’t nearly as pretty to look at.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #st drabbles #stevie drabble

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icarusredwings · 3 months ago

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What things smell like according to Logan Howlett/ The Wolverine. A series of smell based headcanons. Do with these whatever you want :)

People:

Ororo: burnt marshmellows, rain, chunky chocolate chip cookies, protien shakes, spansih rice, chillies, and cocoa butter. She always smells great.

Scott: cucumber shampoo, the remaints of a bonfire the next day, fresh dry cleaning, axe shower gel, lavender sheets

Jean: caramel latte, lavender sheets, vanilla spiced chai, books, mint ice cream, fruit smoothies, stinky hair product, lemon poppy seed muffins, sassafras

Hank: Books, sanatizer, various chemicals, a very specifc fur dander, kinda musky but in a 'im covered in fur and sweaty' kind of way.

Rouge: "Dolly Parton", brick and concrete dust, cherry blossoms body spray, freshly engraved wood, strawberries and milk conditioner, spicy gaucamole and freshly sizzled sausages.

Gambit: tv static, a fresh deck of cards at the casino, spicy jumbo, gin, lime jello, hair gel, "suprisingly good actually"

Kurt: brimstone, smoke from franckinsense, myrrh, a less smelling dander then hank, Holy chrism oil (olive oil and Balsam made by catholic priests), metal, and blue raspberry. Fur/ beard pomade sometimes for special ocassions.

Morph: even when changed he can smell is sandlewood shampoo, he smells like how "Jack Outta smell", latex, pine and cedar, clear nail polish, "that ugly quilt that your grandma kept on the back of her couch that was the warmest, softest thing you've ever slept with."

Charles: Old man fart, metal, chalk, shoe polish, nutmeg, wool, "a trusting hug", books, mahogany, expensive champagne.

Laura: "teen spirit", a shitty cheap "girl power" deodorant that doesn't do well hiding the sweat, apples and peaches, kinda woodsy.

Wade: Cancer, gun smoke, citrus dish soap, blood, oranges, taco sauce, infected skin once in awhile, red dye 40, slight over cooked and crispy apple pie, sugary cereal

Puppins: wet dog, dog dander, oatmeal senstive skin puppy shampoo, chicken, "the dirtest trash she can find to roll in on her walk"

Althea: Old lady, way too strong perfumes, butter biscuits, tea, peppermint candies, more cocaine, "baby powder", lanvender linens, cotton and daisy's Landry detergent.

Feelings/emotions:

Big/serious lies: smell like Gasoline and salty sand near the sea.

Small fibs/playful/ teasing lies: smell like Anise

Lies with decent intentions/are bent truths: smell like honey

Those two are easily mixed up.

Innocent (the person truly believes it. Ex. A child saying dinos are real) truth: smells like thick vanilla creamer.

Filling, whole truths (the person knows for a fact its a truth) smells: like fresh baked rolls/buns

Cancer smells vary like: urine, nail polish remover, some people have a pungent semi sweet smell like rotting fruit, and tar is another smell, depending on which part of the body. If already in late stages, one can smell like cadavers. Even spicy almost.

Pregnant people vary in scent but he can smell the rise of different hormones: Some hormones sweeter then other. If you asked him he would say cinnamon or dying roses. If you're later in your term the scents are more soft like lotion or custard. Lemon ussually.

Serotonin; cheese, lemon cakes, fruity, a bit light, and flakey like a pastry. Marshmellow fluff.

Dopamine; sweet fresh coffee, doritos(?), cocaine. Don't ask why he knows what cocaine smells like. He was alive during coke cocaine.

Endorphins; Sweaty Sex, mint, dark chocolate, violets, chemicals, varies by persons pheromones

Oxytocin; "playful cherries", freshly washed cotton pillows, the warmth of a bath, skin on skin hugs, strawberries

Joy/relaxation/relief: Jasmine, vanilla sugar cookies, fresh soup.

Anger/disapproval/hurt: smoke, the back end of a cigarette, spicy curry, iron, blood, "spoiled raw chicken left out too long"

Fear/excitment/anxiousness: Adrenaline smells like oil, paint, salty pretzels almost.

Tears: Oceans, lillies, fresh water lakes

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harkonnen-darkness · 1 month ago

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Warning?: fluff to dark, thoughts of murder

Feyd loves to cuddle with you. He usually stays awake longer than you do so that he has more time to enjoy the moment. Especially when the nights are cold, he loves to hold you close to his warm body and stroke your soft skin with his fingertips. He loves your soft, relaxed sigh. That the brutal world is suspended for a moment, as if you two were the only living beings in the entire galaxy. Nothing and nobody could hurt you at this moment. He loves to run his nose over your hair. The scent of your shampoo and perfume makes him melt away.

And he would never say a word about it. He would never admit that he craves you. Greedy as fire for gasoline. He wouldn't say the three 'magic' words, his actions were to show you that he loved you. And if you didn't understand that, that would be your own problem. He could kill you here and now, you knew that. He knew that. It would be so easy for him to break your neck with a quick movement of his hand or slit your body open with your own swords. But he didn't do it. Not because he didn't want to. He would like to murder you almost every day. But he knew that he could no longer bite you. No more your sweet blood, no more your beautiful scent, no more listening to your calm breathing. Oh, how boring his life would be without yours in his hands…

#•ཐི♡ཋྀ•#feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha dune #dune part two #feyd x you #feyd rautha imagine

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imorynn · 1 day ago

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༊*·˚ ━━━ ¡ AVIS AMBERG • FEM!READER HEADCANONS !

༊*·˚ warnings : fluff & SMUT ( MDNI 18+ )

༊*·˚ tags : @thoroughly--confused @weemswife @urdaddddd69 @mrsines @confuseuniverse @kenzie-floops @evilregal2002 @alicemaximoff @angeliccss @multixfan @spicyredbitch @ofgoldandbraid @nutritionat @bigbaddoctorwolfe @mgruiz @cultiest @aggieharkness @amethyst-bitch @im-a-carnivorous-plant @likealayka @emilynissangtr @gilmoresliarss @jessicaslittlelovesickmess @gayestswiftie @delusionaforolderwomen @greek-freak101 @justasmallfellow @hotmilfyfrap @thegoddamnfeels @lalchimiedecupid @liliastriangle @czl4t @vii-v @asimpforwomen @daddyriovidal ( those who liked / wanted to be tagged !)

༊*·˚ author’s note : this was so enjoyable to do 😭😭 the list is quite lengthy — and there was so much more to bring together, lol. I hope this is enjoyable to read and that I somewhat did Patti LuPone’s character, Avis Amberg justice with these headcanons ! Lemme know your thoughts ! Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate ! 🍂 Mwuah !! <33

SFW :

༊*·˚ AVIS AMBERG is incredibly careful about your rendezvous, choosing discreet locations like upscale hotels or isolated spots far from prying eyes.

༊*·˚ Her visits to the Golden Tip Gasoline are calculated, never too frequent or predictable, to avoid raising suspicion — especially when it comes to being seen with a young gal such as yourself.

༊*·˚ Important, fleeting note : you’re the first female to work in the Golden Tip Gasoline.

༊*·˚ When Ernie sends a note your way that a favored and certain customer of his was willing to pay double of what was usual to maintain discretion and to steal a moment with you, you knew by that smirk and glint in his eyes that you couldn’t say no.

༊*·˚ Avis is a woman who knows the power of her allure, no matter her age.

༊*·˚ Flustered — you’re indeed very fucking flustered the first time especially given her STRAIGHTFORWARDNESS, yet it’s endearing to her.

༊*·˚ You do love how blunt she is though and eventually get used to it.

༊*·˚ She wants to do it again, and you would be lying ( and fucking stupid ) if you said you didn’t want to — 3 to 4 ‘acts of services’ of exhilaration and fun escalated to a full-on affair.

༊*·˚ She flirts effortlessly with you, her smoky voice dropping to a whisper whenever she addresses you, her lips always curving into a faint, knowing smile while basking in the way you flush at her words.

༊*·˚ ESPECIALLY WITH THE NICKNAMES SHE CALLS YOU —

༊*·˚ “ Darling girl,” “mama’s girl,” “doll,” “sweetheart,” “kitten,” “you little minx” “darling”

༊*·˚ Or when the faint yet pigmented traces of her red lips taint your cheeks, your jawline, your temple, or trail along your neck and collarbone — SHE BEAMS WITH PRIDE AND SATISFACTION WHILE ALL YOU CAN DO IS JUST STARE AT HER WITH A STUPID LOVESICK SMILE. ( this is fucking headcanon for Lilia Calderu as well — DISAGREE WITH ME IF YOU DARE. )

༊*·˚ Avis loves teasing you. CANNOT resist gently poking fun at you, whether it’s the way you blush under her gaze or stumble over your words when she leans in too close. Her teasing is always playful, her tone laced with affection.

༊*·˚ She brings touches of her opulent life into your world. Perfume lingering on the clothes she’s discarded, the soft leather of her handbag brushing against your arm, or the way she lights a cigarette with a gold lighter — it’s a stark contrast to your simpler life and a reminder of the gap between you.

༊*·˚ 100 % a good and attentive listener !!!

༊*·˚ Despite the differences in your worlds, Avis genuinely wants to know about your thoughts, dreams, and past. When you speak, she watches you closely, her brown gaze unwavering, her attention making you feel more seen than you’ve ever been.

༊*·˚ From the way your fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt when you’re nervous to the way your voice becomes faint when you’re tired, she’s attuned to all your quirks. She has a sharp eye for detail, and while she doesn’t always mention these observations, her actions show she’s paying attention.

༊*·˚ You remind her she’s more than her reputation. Avis is used to being seen as a symbol of wealth, power, or beauty, but she loves when you make her feel like a person. A woman. Someone who’s flawed, complex, and deeply loved for who she is—not what she represents.

༊*·˚ Show her that she’s cherished, even in small ways.

༊*·˚ Avis adores the little things you do to show your devotion — like carrying something for her, warming her hands with yours, or whispering her name in a way that’s just for her. Or even small love-written notes you may sneak into her purse or leave behind.

༊*·˚ It’s in these gestures that she feels truly adored.

༊*·˚ You make her smile. Like, truly, REALLY smile, cheekbones slightly accentuated — there’s this smoldering depth in her eyes when she looks at you as you speak or does something, and when you catch her looking at you like that, your brain just cuts circuits and you feel yourself melting into a puddle because what the fuck —

༊*·˚ In her world of facades and half-truths, your openness is refreshing. Even when you hesitate or stumble over your words, she appreciates the sincerity in everything you say.

༊*·˚ Admires how you respect her boundaries!! Avis values your understanding of her limits. She loves that you don’t push her to share more than she’s comfortable with or question the life she’s built outside of your relationship. Your respect for her choices deepens her trust in you.

༊*·˚ Expect to hear her talk shit about people, even those she loves ( Ellen included, sorry pooks —), in the industry — and expect her to be RIGHT because her words are not spoken without blunt TRUTH. You never disagree with her, although you do shed slight light depending on who it is ( except Ace. Fuck Ace. )

༊*·˚ Though she’d never admit it, Avis is sentimental about your affair. A small book you’d been reading in the passenger seat of her car, the handkerchief you left at her hotel once—all these small things find their way into her collection of keepsakes.

༊*·˚ Avis isn’t outwardly possessive, but there’s an edge to her when she perceives competition. If she catches a whiff of you being overly friendly with someone else, her smiles get tighter, and her touches that night are more deliberate, as if reasserting her claim.

༊*·˚ She pays Ernie fucking extra for your attention to only be provided for her.

༊*·˚ You have to make it clear on more than one occasion that she does not have to pay for your attention, when she’s already captured it entirely —

༊*·˚ You seek her approval and praise. When she throws a compliment or words of advice your way, you greedily and most eagerly consume that into your brain and heart.

༊*·˚ While Avis does here and there tease and dangle the age card on you, you trust and deeply value her judgment, her choice of words, her opinions, and thoughts, and not just because she is someone you adore and become a literal hole for, but because she IS Avis Amberg, a regal and intelligent woman who’s walked the earth longer than you have.

༊*·˚ She more than anyone understands the things one must do and sacrifices one must make to survive in this world. She understands why you do what you do — such as work at the Golden Tip Gas.

༊*·˚ “You’re smarter than this place, doll. Don’t let it keep you boxed in.”

༊*·˚ It’s her way of lifting you up while reminding you that she sees your potential beyond that place.

༊*·˚ Definitely encourages you to pursue your dreams, and depending on what your ideal career is, she will push and pull at strings so her girl can get one step ahead to where she wants to be.

༊*·˚ Avis definitely fusses over you sometimes. If she notices you’ve been overworking or looking too tired, she might hand you a flask of expensive whiskey or tuck a crisp bill into your shirt pocket with a teasing comment about taking care of yourself.

༊*·˚ Avis is NOT afraid to show you tough love. Does not like to sugarcoat things. Her maternal streak doesn’t mean she’ll coddle or indulge weakness. She’ll tell you the truth, even if it’s hard to hear, but her words are always laced with an undercurrent of care.

༊*·˚ Not only supports but pushes you, and it’s because she believes in your potential and wants you to succeed. “You’re strong, don’t let the world treat you like a little bitch, darling.”

༊*·˚ You smother her with affection, SHE SMOTHERS YOU WITH GIFTS.

༊*·˚ The first time she gives you something, you’re hesitant to accept it. Her brow arched, a soft laugh escaping her as she leaned closer to murmur, “It’s for me as much as it is for you, kitten. Humor me, won’t you?”

༊*·˚ Avis knows you might hesitate to accept her generosity, given your position and hers. She always reassures you with a soft smile and a murmured, “It’s nothing, darling. Let me take care of you.” Or , “Don’t argue with me. Mama likes to spoil her girl.”

༊*·˚ A novel by an author you may have mentioned in passing, or a scarf in your favorite color, or a bracelet with a charm that carries a secret significance between the two of you, she’ll get it for you.

༊*·˚ When you proudly wear or use something she’s gifted with gleam, those brown pools of hers shimmer with unmistakable pride. She may trail her fingers along the edge of the fabric she bought for you or comment softly, “You make it look better than I imagined.”

༊*·˚ She sometimes indulges in a more extravagant gift — a pair of earrings, a silk dress, or something that feels out of reach for your world. When she does, her tone is casual, as though it’s no trouble for her to provide such luxuries, but her eyes gleam with satisfaction when she sees your stunned expression.

༊*·˚ Avis is a proud woman, and though she’s not one for grand declarations, she doesn’t like it when you question her affections. “Must I always remind you how much you mean to me?” she’ll say with a soft sigh, cupping your chin to force you to look her in the eye.

༊*·˚ There’s a touch of insecurity on your part. Being with someone as poised and powerful as Avis can feel overwhelming. Sometimes you wonder why she’s with you, a nobody compared to her glamorous life. But she has a way of dispelling your doubts with a single look or a soft-spoken reassurance.

༊*·˚ While Avis trusts your independence, she doesn’t take kindly to anyone mistreating you. If she senses someone’s being disrespectful, her words turn sharp, her demeanor icy, as she swiftly puts them in their place.

༊*·˚ She HATES leaving you after stolen hours with one another. Parting way is always the hardest for Avis. Though she masks it well, there’s a flicker of hesitation in her eyes every time she has to walk away, as if she’s silently wishing she could stay longer. ( those brown eyes of her soft and warm and SAD while her red-tinted lips frown as she stares at you, touches lingering, pecks to your cheek frequent, longer than the last before she departs — UGH. )

༊*·˚ You despise Ace. Period. It physically pains you that she has to go back to the man called her husband — the man with far more power than you could ever have. A MAN for Christ’s sake. Your jealousy — and despise — is both endearing but somewhat common to Avis.

༊*·˚ You bring out a softness in her. With you, Avis lets herself relax in ways she doesn’t elsewhere. She enjoys quiet moments together—sharing a cigarette, lying side by side in silence, or just watching the way you look at her like she’s the only, most precious person in the world. She tends to forget what it feels like, being looked at in that way, feeling that way. ( poor baby —)

༊*·˚ She ADORES how you notice the small things. Whether it’s a new piece of jewelry she’s wearing, the way her hair is slightly styled differently, or even just a minor change in her tone, Avis is deeply flattered when you pick up on the details. She loves being seen by you.

༊*·˚ She knows when you’re upset. You can’t hide your emotions from Avis. If you’re feeling down or anxious, she has a way of coaxing it out of you with a quiet patience that makes you feel safe.

NSFW !!!

༊*·˚ AVIS AMBERG THRIVES in control — a tantalizing balance of tender and firm.

༊*·˚ In the bedroom, this translates into her taking the lead with a firm but sensual dominance. She delights in directing your actions, telling you how to touch her, how to undress, or how to position yourself for her pleasure. She enjoys you being obedient, and your eagerness to please only enhances her desire.

༊*·˚ She might instruct you to undress in front of her slowly, letting her take in every inch of your body, her gaze deliberate and appreciative.

༊*·˚ “Good girl,” she’d breathe out, her voice a velvet-like mix of approval and arousal, as you follow her instructions without hesitation.

༊*·˚ She relishes in control though tempers it with a warmth that makes you feel safe, adored, and completely hers.

༊*·˚ She’s a MASTER of seduction.

༊*·˚ Avis takes her time with foreplay, savoring the build-up as much as the act itself. Her lips, her hands, and her voice are all tools in her arsenal, and she knows exactly how to wield them to leave you breathless.

༊*·˚ Avis would be drawn to your reverence for her. Your willingness to treat her like a goddess would resonate deeply, feeding her need to feel adored and desired in ways she doesn’t receive in her conventional life.

༊*·˚ Babygirl isn’t one to rush, if you’re eager to get to it, she manages to get you to slow down with those eyes and red lipped smirk of hers. Whether it’s the slow drag of her lips down your neck or the way your fingers explore every inch of her skin, she likes for one to take their time, as though committing the feel of one another to memory.

༊*·˚ Quiet isn’t her issue! Avis isn’t afraid to let you know how much she’s enjoying herself — very vocal. Her moans are soft yet commanding, her whispered praises intoxicating. She’s also insistent on hearing you, encouraging every gasp and groan with murmured affirmations.

༊*·˚ She DEMANDS your focus. When you’re with Avis, she expects your UNDIVIDED attention. She’ll gently guide your hands to where she wants them or softly command you to look at her, ensuring every moment is intentional and shared.

༊*·˚ She enjoys hearing how beautiful, powerful, and sensual she is, and she’d savor how eagerly you want to please her.

༊*·˚ You kiss every inch of her body, whispering how divine she is, how much you want to please her, and how lucky you feel to have her.

༊*·˚ “That’s it, darling,” she’d exhale, fingers threading into your hair when you’d kneel before her. “Show Mama how much you adore her.”

༊*·˚ While Avis exudes control and dominance, she would also crave moments where she can let her guard down.

༊*·˚ With you, someone younger and fresh with possibility, she’d explore the thrill of trusting someone to take care of her—even if only briefly.

༊*·˚ On rare occasions, she’d allow herself to lean into your arms, guiding your hand to undress her or worship her body as she sits / lays back, watching you with a mix of amusement and surrender.

༊*·˚ Avis lives for the thrill of secrecy.

༊*·˚ The illicit nature of your rendezvous adds an irresistible tension that heightens her arousal.

༊*·˚ She delights in taking risks — stolen touches in public spaces, breathy moans silenced into the palm of her hand, and the ever-present danger of discovery.

༊*·˚ During galas or social events, she’d brush her fingers against your waist, whispering heated promises in your ear about what she’ll do to you later.

༊*·˚ QUICKIES OCCUR WITH AVIS. I JUST KNOW IT IN MY BONES. Sometimes, when time is short, she’ll pull you into her car and park in the nearest empty parking lot— DOES NOT GIVE TWO FLYING FUCKS IF IT IS DAY OR NIGHT, SHE WILL HAVE YOU.

༊*·˚ The urgency of these moments—your hands fumbling, your breath hot against her skin—it’s all just so delicious to her and you —

༊*·˚ The forbidden nature of your relationship feeds her desire, making every encounter all the more electrifying.

༊*·˚ Definitely has a thing for marking you — hidden of course, though sometimes she isn’t afraid to let them peak out —

༊*·˚ Avis is deliberate about leaving traces of your passion, but always where only you or she will see them. Love bites along your inner thighs or scratches down your back are her signature, a private reminder of her.

༊*·˚ Avis, ever meticulous and refined, would likely have a deep appreciation for oral pleasure — both giving and receiving.

༊*·˚ She’s precise, taking her time to tease and savor, drawing out your pleasure until you’re trembling under her touch.

༊*·˚ She’d enjoy teasing you, her lips and tongue exploring every sensitive spot, her movements sensual and deliberate, building you up only to pause and make you beg for release.

༊*·˚ “Patience, my sweet girl,” she’d whisper, her voice rich with amusement. “I decide when you come.”

༊*·˚ Conversely, she’d REVEL in your attention to her, loving the way you worship her body, how you kiss and taste her like she’s the only thing that matters.

༊*·˚ She encourages you to be VOCAL. Avis LOVES hearing you — whether it’s a soft moan, a whispered plea, or her name spilling from your lips. She’ll tease — very subtly degrade you if you try to stifle yourself. “Let me hear those pretty sounds, darling. I want to know how good you feel at being a dirty little whore, hmm?”

༊*·˚ As a woman used to getting what she wants, Avis would enjoy exerting her control through teasing and denial.

༊*·˚ She, and proud she would be to declare this, is highly aware of the power she holds over you and takes immense pleasure in making you wait for her touch, her approval, her satisfaction.

༊*·˚ She might kiss you deeply, her hands roaming your body, only to stop abruptly and smile. “Not yet, darling,” she’d say, commanding while those brown eyes shimmer in mirth. “I want to savor you.”

༊*·˚ Your frustration only fuels her satisfaction, and when she finally allows you to have her, the release is all the sweeter.

༊*·˚ Avis would revel in the age gap between you.

༊*·˚ She enjoys being the experienced, worldly woman guiding you into new realms of pleasure and desire.

༊*·˚ She loves how youthful and vibrant you are, how your innocence (or at least the appearance of it) contrasts with her own sophistication.

༊*·˚ She might call you “Mama’s girl” during moments of intimacy, or when promising you something filthy and exhilarating in the secrecy of stolen moments.

༊*·˚“You’re so eager, you minx ,” she’d croon affectionately. “It’s adorable how desperate you are for me.”

༊*·˚ Avis is a woman of taste, and she’d incorporate luxury into her intimate encounters with you.

༊*·˚ Silk sheets, champagne, and candlelit settings would be her preference, creating an atmosphere of opulence that matches her persona.

༊*·˚ She’d surprise you with a private rendezvous in a lavish hotel room, the bed adorned with rose petals, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume.

༊*·˚ “Only the best for mama’s girl,” she’d whisper against the nape of your neck as you marveled at the setting she’d arranged just for you.

༊*·˚ praise, praise praise !!!! If it was not clear, Avis thrives for praising you!!!! Avis is generous with her compliments, but they’re always laced with her unique brand of authority.

༊*·˚ She LOVES hearing you call her Mrs. Amberg when you’re intimate, but she’s also partial to ma’am or even mama. It feeds her ego and the dynamic between you two.

༊*·˚ Definitely tests your limits. Avis enjoys pushing boundaries, always careful but curious to see how far you’re willing to go for her. A blindfold, a soft scarf tying your wrists, or simply asking you to trust her completely—she knows how to toe the line between thrilling and overwhelming !

༊*·˚ VERY SENSUAL. For Avis, intimacy is about more than just physical pleasure. She takes every opportunity to touch you—tracing patterns on your skin, pressing kisses to your pulse, and savoring the way you respond to her in every way.

༊*·˚ She takes her time with aftercare, as do you. Despite her intensity, Avis is gentle and attentive once the heat of the moment has passed. She’ll brush back your hair, press soft kisses to your temple, and whisper words of reassurance as she holds you close.

#avis amberg x reader #avis amberg #Avis Amberg Hollywood #patti lupone x reader #patti lupone #hollywood netflix #Ernie west #archie coleman #jack castello #claire wood #ace amberg #𝐢𝐫𝐲𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 ── 🎐ᝰ.#lilia calderu x fem!reader #Lilia Calderu

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ghost-proofbaby · 5 months ago

Text

kissing lessons, pt. 2

summary: you and robin face the music that maybe the kissing lessons aren't just lessons after all.

pairing: robin buckley x fem!reader

warnings: even more sapphic yearning than the first one (in my opinion), lots of religious imagery scattered sporadically, and a lots of hints/passing mentions of homophobia (no talk of violence, etc.) that was normal in the 80s. there's even more discussion of reader conforming to the usual and dating a boy. once again, reader is explicitly female.

wc: 3.3k+

a/n: i cannot explain how healing writing this has been. shout out to younger me for surviving the way my own experience ended with a lot more heartbreak - you deserved a robin buckley, baby ghost. and thank you to everyone who read the first one and was so very kind. i am eternally grateful <3

part 1 here

It was your own damn fault, probably.

Robin may have been the one to ignite the fire, so prettily asking to start having those godforsaken kissing lessons, but you’d be the one clutching a bottle of gasoline. You’d been the one fanning the flames with each arrangement you’d insist upon, Saturday after Saturday always being spent one predictable way: kissing your best friend.

In your bedroom, in her living room, behind the slide at the park.

Mid-afternoon, early mornings, in the dead of night.

Any time that you can find an excuse for it, your lips were attached to Robin Buckley’s, chipping away at your own demise, and it was all your fault.

There wasn’t a handbook for this, though. There was no pamphlet to explain all the butterflies that would erupt in your stomach every time she’d smile at you slyly just before she’d lean it to initiate the kisses, no how-to for stopping the shake in your hands as you’d cradle thighs and cheeks alike as if they were the most sacred of sacrifices, no survival guide for all the heartache that now haunts your every waking moment when you think about the smell of her perfume. You had no one who could explain away your obsession with the taste of passion fruit lip smackers these days.

You were in love with your best friend, and it sort of felt like some type of terrible shipwreck done by your own recklessness.

And if she felt even an ounce of the same way, you couldn’t see it. You simply couldn’t allow yourself to read any further into the brushes of her hand in the hallways that had grown more consistent. If you daydreamed too long about the way she’d been so overly supportive of you wearing skirts to school more often these days, you’d quite possibly self-implode. It was all a dangerous game, a hopeless drowning in the middle of the Atlantic, and you were just letting it happen.

“Why was that Connor guy talking to you in the hall today?”

And if you read too much into what you so desperately wanted to describe as jealousy in her tone right now, you’d certainly combust in the blink of an eye.

It wasn’t even a Saturday – it was a Friday. Saturdays were the holy days, the days in which you could guarantee you’d taste her all over your tongue and be allowed to gather all your offerings in the form of worshiping whispers and guiding movements as she straddled your lap. The rest of the week, the two of you were nothing more than the best of friends. On Fridays, you should be nothing but two girls who find innocent and platonic solace in one another.

It’s just hard to do when all you’re capable of thinking about is how soft the skin of her neck was nearly a week ago, when your lips had trailed down to her pulse point in such feathery light brushes.

“Oh!” you sit up from where you’d been spread out on her bed, looking up at her with sudden excitement as you watch her spin in her desk chair, “I forgot to tell you! Holy shit, you’re going to love this.”

The moment it had happened, you’d started mentally counting down the moments until you’d have the chance to tell Robin of the awkward conversation. You can’t believe you’d forgotten about it so easily once you’d gotten the girl alone.

She pauses her spinning immediately, blinking rapidly as she was clearly dizzy, “What do you mean? Why am I going to love it?”

“He asked me out to milkshakes.”

You wait. And wait. And wait. Nearly quaking with all the anticipation for your best friend to burst out into laughter with you over the irony of it all.

You just keep waiting.

The laughter never escapes Robin, her face stoic as she doesn’t even smile. All the giggles and rolling of eyes you’d expected to share is completely erased with that look on her face currently. A look you almost mistake as hurt, a look that reaches far beyond jealousy.

The look of someone standing amongst the wreckage of an abandoned ship.

When she finally speaks again, with deflated shoulders and the corners of her mouth down-turned, it’s soft enough you almost miss it. “Did you say yes?”

It was the one question you hadn’t been expecting – you’d assumed it had been a given that you’d turn the poor boy down.

“Obviously not,” you snort, uneasy as you rifle through your mind, a sudden desperation to make Robin smile or to lighten the mood immediately rearing its head.

“Obviously?”

This conversation is very much not going the way you had seen it play out in your head. Robin’s missing all of her lines, none of her expressions lining with the directorial vision you’d been gifted with when the moment had happened.

No saccharine laughter, no sweet joy. None of the sugared reactions are rotting your teeth out.

Instead, there’s just a strange and hollow ache. The vacant expression of Robin’s face that twitches ever so slightly with something more below the surface, and a tension in the air that wraps around your throat tightly.

“Yeah, I mean,” you choke out, trying to stave off your discomfort, “We both know how I feel about milkshake dates. And besides, he wanted to go tomorrow, and we already have plans-”

“You could’ve said yes,” she blurts out. As soon as the words fall in the space between you two, she’s wide-eyed, staring at you like a scared deer caught up in your headlights, “Our plans- They-” she pauses, and takes a deep breath that almost looks painful, “You could have said yes if you wanted to. I’d live. Plus, it’d give you a chance to put our lessons to use.”

No sweetness, only a sour on your tongue that makes your face twist. “Why would I use our lessons on Connor from pottery?”

Why would I ever want to kiss somebody that isn’t you?

The thought easily makes you sick to your stomach. The lips of someone who isn’t Robin Buckley pressed to yours, the hands of someone who isn’t your best friend tracing the curves of your body. You think you’d rather die.

“I dunno,” Robin is mumbling now, almost looking ashamed. The last thing you’d wanted to do was shame her. You’d just wanted to share a laugh with your best friend, “That was sort of the point, right? You wanted to get good at kissing-”

“We,” you correct her.

“What?”

“We wanted to get good at kissing. You can’t tell me there’s no boys in the band that have asked you out or you’d have a chance to kiss. You’re…” Even as the words are ash in your mouth, sticking to the roof of your mouth and making it hard to breathe, you force it all out. The only words left are the truth, anyways, “Beautiful, Robs. You’re fucking stunning, and funny, and so kind. Who’s your Connor from poetry, hm?”

It’s a dagger to the heart. It’s alcohol on a paper cut, salt in a throbbing wound. Every cliche and morbid pain in the books is racing through you at what you’ve just said. Asking her about boys is worse than simply accepting it as a hypothetical. Having to actually hear about boys chasing after the girl that’s occupied you irrevocably is worse than imagining them all.

At least in your imagination, they could all be fumbling over their feet, falling to the dirt as Robin cackles and arrives straight to her original destination – you. At least in your imagination, you stand a chance.

“God, no,” she scrunches her nose up, immediately standing from her chair, “Oh my God, no. Ew. I don’t- I’d never-”

“You’d never?” you raise an eyebrow, watching as she nearly starts to pace.

“We were talking about you!” she bursts out, arms flailing out beside her, spinning so she was stood right in front of you, “You and Colton-”

“Connor.”

“-and how you should go get milkshakes with him! You should’ve said yes, okay? You could say you have a boyfriend when you get to college if you’d said yes.”

Boyfriend. A word that will never, ever leave your lips. Not just when it came to Connor – when it came to all the boys in your school. All the boys in your town. All the boys in the goddamn world.

That word doesn’t fit. It’s too tight, too confining. Strangles you in all the wrong places and makes your chest constrict in the worst way.

You don’t want a boyfriend.

You want your best friend to stop pacing, you want your best friend to hold your hand, you want it to be Saturday and for your best friend to kiss your fucking face off.

Pathetic, only because you don’t think you’ll ever find the nerve to say it to her out loud.

“Who cares if I have a boyfriend when I go to college?” you spit out, struggling to even say the damn word, “I could give two shits if I-”

“I care!” Robin is turning erratic, wild as she tugs at her hair and looks at you with such misplaced desperation. You don’t know what she wants from you – you can’t give her what she’s asking of you, “I care, because you deserve to have that normal experience. You should be out there, kissing boys and going on dates to share a milkshake and- and- and… not spending your Saturdays with me, hiding away and kissing me and sharing chapstick and making me feel all these stupid feelings-”

She cuts off roughly, a small gasp leaving her lips as she realizes what she’s just said.

Making me feel all these stupid feelings.

“What do you mean by that?” you whisper, sharing at her, shocked, “What do you mean by stupid feelings-”

“Forget it.”

“No.”

“Yes,” she pleads, taking a step back when you stand up in front of her, “Dear God, please forget I ever said that. I’m literally begging you.”

Stupid feelings.

What does she even define as stupid feelings?

Is it that her heart races whenever you suggest another lesson? Is it that warmth that spreads head to toe every time you grab her hand casually? Is it all that pain with nowhere to go at the end of the day, when you bury your face in a pillow and scream out all the what-ifs you assume you’ll never explore in this lifetime?

You think about your parents. The ones who are never home, or are oblivious in the kitchen as you shut your door and quickly return to your bed, where your best friend is awaiting you eagerly just to get her tongue down your throat. You think of Robin’s parents, who force her to go to church every Sunday, never realizing she can still taste the strawberry chapstick all over her lips come morning. Whispering all their prayers in the same tone she’d whispered your name the night before. You think about all the peers your age who spend their Saturday nights in diners, sharing milkshakes and planning their futures – their normal futures.

White picket fence, a mid-size dog to run around the yard. Two and a half kids, and a wedding ring gleaming on the finger on their left hand directly connected to their heart. The same one that Robin always fiddles with while the two of you sit and do homework together, the same one Robin once slipped an old coin-machine ring onto as a joke when you were thirteen, cackling about some sort of marriage pact that had every adult in vicinity glaring at the two of you.

All the things you can’t dream about. Because when you do, it’s never the nice boy your father points out at the grocery store. It’s never that boy your mother finds absolutely darling, who lives two houses down and has offered to mow your lawn numerous times.

Every time you try to picture it, it’s with Robin.

Her with a matching ring you’ve bought for a quarter, her lipstick staining the matching mug on your kitchen counter during a quiet morning. Kids with her freckles, kids with all her spunk. A dog she’d name something incredibly niche, and that you’d fight her on endlessly, but end up giving in simply because you love her.

Whenever you try to look to the future, it’s with the girl before you, who has tears gathering in her lash line now. Embarrassment painting every inch of her exposed skin, and her chest stuttering with every gasping breath.

Stupid feelings. You’d become entirely acquainted with stupid feelings, you just hadn’t realized that Robin had as well.

“What do you mean by that, Robs?” your voice cracks, begging all but on your knees at this moment. Everything you could possibly want right in an arm’s reach.

You don’t even need the picket fence or the dog. Kids could vanish right from the dream. The house could become a quaint apartment in the city. The morning coffee could be traded for peppermint tea. As long as the thing that never changes is her, you don’t really care where the visions lead.

She says your name so softly, you nearly break down entirely. You want to hear it for the rest of your days. The way the shape of your name curls around her tongue and falls from her lips, “You should just forget I said anything, I mean it. Go home and call Connor-”

“Fuck Connor!” you suddenly raise your voice, so entirely done with all the boy talk. All the expectations and all the definitions of normal. Your finger on your left hand, connected directly to your heart, throbs. “I don’t want to share some half-melted milkshake with that… with that… idiot! I want to share it with the idiot in front of me right now. I don’t want to practice kissing on him, I want to practice with you. I don’t want him, and I don’t want that boy who bags groceries at Melvald’s, and I don’t-”

Robin Buckley is the brave one. She shuts you up about all the ones you don’t want, by giving you the one thing you do want.

Soft palms, soft lips. Gentle hesitation to soothe the scars of a future you never really cared for. Fruity lip balm that somehow perfectly matches airy perfume.

She’s kissing you like her life depends on it. Like she’s feeling an ache in the joints of that finger connected to the heart, and she just can’t take it anymore. Like she loves you. Or at least likes you.

And you’ll take what you can get when you reach up to grab onto her anywhere you can find. Bunching her shirt at her hip with your first, fingers curling around her forearm that’s connected to the hand cradling your cheek. You can’t possibly lean into it all enough; can’t press your lips any tighter against hers, can’t have any more of your limbs bumping into hers as you stumble backwards and onto her bed.

She’s crawling over you, little puffs of breaths escaping between kisses, hovering above you with a halo of sunlight leaking in through her bedroom window.

She looks like a God you don’t believe in, and one she can’t be spoon-fed to worship anymore. All holier notions are focused on you. Fingers trailing their way up under your shirt and hips bumping against yours as you both try to learn what to do with this new position.

It’s better than your best friend seated in your lap, timidly moving her tongue. It’s nicer.

“Stupid feelings,” you breathe out when she moves to pepper kisses on your cheek, on your jaw, on your neck, “Stupid fucking feelings.”

“Sometimes, I wish we’d never started the lessons, you know?” she whispers when she pauses at your collarbone, peering up at you with those glossy blue eyes. Oceans deep, ready for your ship to roll right into. Ready for your ship to crash in. “It made all of this so much harder and complicated.”

Your fingers slide into her hair, tugging at the sporadic pieces that you’d helped cut a year ago. The saddest excuse for layers ever, “Made what harder?”

You want to hear her say it. You need to hear her say it.

“Liking you.”

If hearts could burst, yours would be fluttering shreds behind your ribs. Nothing more than the aftermath of finally, finally, hearing those words fall from her lips.

“You like me?” your cheeks ache immediately from your grin, so wide it occupies your entire face. You swear you can see its reflection in her eyes.

Her head lifts and you see some of the fear still lingering behind her own smile, “Yeah, doofus. I like you. A lot, actually. And I just always assumed you liked that Cooper boy-”

“His name is Connor.”

“I know,” she laughs, face contorting as she bites back more giggles. It’s no use though, as her head falls forward and her forehead lands on the center of your chest, “I just- God, I sort of hated him. I heard him ask you out for the milkshake and I just wanted to punch the dude-”

“You heard?” you’re laughing now, head thrown back, “I’m sorry, you knew why I was talking to him, and you still tried to play all coy and ask me?”

“Can you blame a girl for trying?”

No. No, you really couldn’t. You can only imagine the ridiculous plans you’d elaborately conjure if you’d ever overheard a boy asking Robin out on a date. All the jealousy ploys and childish schemes, born out of all the sunshine she’s been instilling in you since the first day you’d met her.

And imagining that is fine. But what you no longer have to imagine is a Robin who chooses you, the scenario in which you can simply grab her and kiss her until you’ve run out of breaths and your lungs have shriveled into nothing more than feathers in your chest.

So you do.

You tug her back up to you and kiss her, far more languid than she’d initially kissed you. The slow movements of lips with all the time in the world. The steady movements of hands that belong as you run them over her shoulders and down her back, bring them to those hips you’d been adoring every Saturday.

You kiss Robin Buckley on a Friday, simply because you can.

Nice, your mind rings out. Nice, nice, nice.

This was nice – this was right. None of that discomfort at the thought of letting Connor kiss you, no strangulation at the word boyfriend. You feel like you can breathe for the first time in your life as you kiss your best friend serenely and let all of that love seep out of your skin when it presses to hers. In the background of it all, a new word forms, a soft blanket of comfort rather than something to wrap around your throat.

Girlfriend.

Now that? That sounds nice.

“Hey,” Robin says when she pulls back slowly, tip of her nose still bumping yours, the weight of her still between your thighs, “Do you want to…. I don’t know, go get a milkshake with me or something?”

You don’t think about either of your parents, or any of the self-righteous vipers who might be prowling the town on a Friday night. You know it won’t be the same as going to the diner with a nice boy – you know you won’t be able to kiss her on the street or cuddle up quite as obviously, keep her quite as close as you so desperately ached to, but it was okay.

It was enough. For now.

“Only if we can get strawberry,” you quip, unable to help yourself as you lean up for another brief peck.

The peck isn’t enough. You don’t think any amount of Robin’s treacly kisses would ever be enough. You’d probably spend an entire lifetime just trying to get your fill.

“Deal,” she rasps, clearly sharing the sentiment as she leans back down, kissing you right back. Eager lips not quite satisfied.

There would be no screaming or crying into pillows tonight.

ghost's taglist: @emmaisgonnacry @figmentofquinn @bebe07011 @barbedwirebats @ayooooo0

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#ghost's stories #robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley fanfic #stranger things #i need a robin buckley to just kiss through laughter and share a milkshake with #the feminine urge to write the actual milkshake date is strong but who knows

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sashi-ya · 1 month ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ エロチックトバー２０２４> MDNI / EXPLICIT CONTENT

THE RAIN 💦 BYAKUYA KUCHIKI X F! READER ＫINKTOBER DAY 22: WATERSPORTS

🐙 Requested by: Anonymous. Hi! I hope is not too late, but can I request day 22 with Byakuya and f! reader? thank you! ⚠️ tw: mdni. explicit content. watersports, pee content, piss kink or whatever you wanna call it. piss play (? idk, best tw possible for this one: keep in mind Byakuya asks reader to pee on his jeans and then while fucking her. Also, he pees inside her. Do not read if you don't like/enjoy this. 🐙 wc: 1,4k // kinktober 24 masterlist // join the taglist

I want more of you, Byakuya-sama. Everything I wanna try, everything I wanna feel… All of that, if it belongs to you.

“What the hell is that?” he asks, laying on the bed of some random love hotel of Karakura.

“Mhghj…” you giggle; the TV had various “movie” options. You pass them all, from up to down, until the triple x ones appear. “Thi- this is porn. Human porn” you continue laughing.

Byakuya sits properly on the bed, he’s been resting for some time. You insisted on visiting a love hotel in the human world since many Shinigami have already told them about those. (Especially Rukia, but that information shouldn’t be revealed to Byakuya for obvious reasons).

Him, after annoying pleads, finally said yes. And so, here you are both.

“But- go back, the previous one… what-“ he asks, interested despite trying to act disgusted.

“Which one? This on- oh… OH-“ you get silent for a second; the picture shows a woman straight up peeing on a man’s sex. And the man is obviously raptured with such “rain.”

You turn around to look at your long-haired lover; you do it slowly, and a naughty smirk invades your face.

“I don’t know what that smile implies, but you look like a degenerate” he says, calmly, trying not to look straight towards the tv… he is trying to act surprised and perhaps disgusted, but there is something inside him that aches to keep watching.

“Mhgh… aren’t you the one who asked me to go back? You like it, don’t you? you want me to do it?” you tease him; at first jokingly, but soon you take it a hundred percent seriously… Byakuya’s pants are definitely showing an erection.

Byakuya sighs, looking to the side; he can’t maintain eye contact with you, because he knows how much you know him. And blushed cheeks also show how horny he is, very well. Oh, who would have known Kuchiki Byakuya could be that naughty and dirty?

You crawl up to where he is, right in between his legs. Like a cat, you purr and kiss his neck.

“What do you want, Byakuya-sama?” you whisper into his ear. “You wanna get wet, babe?”

Byakuya takes a deep breath and looks at you through the corner of his eye; it takes him a couple of seconds to decide his own fate, but he ultimately does.

“Y-es” he whispers low, incredibly low. It’s so weird to you that he is not able to speak loud and straightforwardly as he usually does. Perhaps he is ashamed, and he shouldn’t be… at all.

“Very well…” you giggle, planting a kiss on his cheek that turns him on like fire to gasoline.

You are immediately pinned down the bed, he sometimes forgets he shouldn’t use shumpo in bed.

Hands surrounding your wrists, keep you like a prisoner of his imponent beauty and manhood. With arms over your head, and legs spread to let him come closer, you wait for his passion.

“You might be already wet, mh?” he asks, letting go of one of your hands to pull down your pants.

He is right, you are indeed wet; by simply looking at him, by simply smelling his perfume, you become crazy, needy, aroused.

Byakuya is pleased to see your panties -that he specifically chose for you to wear- are indeed already dampened in your arousal, and now, apparently he wants them for you to wet them even more.

Your shirt ends up lifted up to uncover your tummy, he goes down with kisses that feel like soft butterflies laying upon your skin. Byakuya is both a beast in bed, and also a gentle lover that makes you shiver.

The captain plants kisses over your panties and sex, inhaling your sweet scent he deeply loves; you tangle his hair around your fingers, pulling softly whenever he bites the inner side of your thighs.

One single finger slides inside you, panties still on, just moved to the side. In and out, just like the way he knows you like it. Exactly the way he knows is perfect. Beckoningly, hitting the upper wall, playing from time to time with your clit.

However, Byakuya desperately wants to try what he has just seen on that tv, and that still plays in the background. Therefore, he doesn’t want to wait much longer, and perhaps deep inside he prays for your body to be able to suffice such desire.

“Ride me” he commands -pleads-

“Y-yes, babe…” you answer back, sure things are about to get messy.

He flops into the bed, and you crawl on top of him. Hips straddled on his, your hands quickly try unbuttoning his pants.

“Honestly, your hakama are easier to take off, these modern jeans suck!” you grunt, battling against the buttons.

“Don’t take them off yet, then. Wet them” he orders. This time his blushed cheeks aren’t because of shame, but because he is absolutely thrilled to make everything as dampened and dirty as possible…. What has gotten into you, Byakuya Kuchiki? Where are your manners as a noble?!

You scoff; then you want them ruined, as well, captain? fine…

You spread your legs, laying back and letting your ass fall almost at his knees height. Your core in total display for him to see, your fingers moving panties and folds… opened to fulfill this naughty Shinigami’s desires.

“you are lucky we’ve been drinking the whole mini bar when we arrived” you joke, feeling the pressure of your full bladder aching against your other organs.

“It is not luck if you do everything possible to make it happen” he smirks.

Ah, naughty captain… you planned this, then?

At first it is a little difficult for you to do it, but soon the first few drops fall from your core making Byakuya bite his inner lip. And then, the stream of semi-transparent rain got not only his jeans and shirt wet, but also everything around.

Little to no patience he has, as he can’t help himself but touch your core as the golden relief still gushes out. He plays with your clit, getting his forearm as wet as the rest of the things.

It feels so delicious to push, to relieve yourself and also feel the tingling sensation of his up and down touches on your pleasure button.

However, Byakuya might not be satisfied yet…

“Hold it in for a second, please” he begs, unbuttoning the soaked jeans off. His sex being out of such wet prison, ready to impale you as fast as possible. “Come here”

You crawl again on his crotch, this time letting his sex slide right in. It is difficult as hell not to pee when his hips buck up in a ramming motion. And in fact, you are unable to do so for much longer.

The pressure of your urine flows out every time he goes in and out of you, making him grunt with noises you’ve rarely listened to before abandoning his mouth.

His fingertips carve on your ass cheeks, only to get a better grip, and move you faster up and down.

You can’t even process what exactly is that is making you so incredibly close to an amazing climax, but you let it happen anyway… is it his sex inside you, is it the fact that you have transcended everything and are able to engage in such perverted and dirty acts together? Is it his face of total rapt while fucking you? Is it the splashing sound that mixes with your flesh slapping against each other? Is it him in all its manly glory? Is it everything at the same time?

Probably…

“Nghh… do it, inside me… it’s your turn now” you beg, with the twisted idea of having your womb not only full of his soon incoming cum, but also his urine.

“Y-yes, it’s – nngh…- gonna be difficult- but…” he whines, grunts and all of the things in between as well. Byakuya feels his sex about to explode, but also his bladder… he knew exactly what he was doing when drinking as much as he did.

It feels warm, warmer. So deliciously hot… the pressure, the way every time he thrusts in you it overflows.

His forehead sticks to yours when it's not even possible for him to keep going, when he needs to stay a little quiet to finally empty himself into you even before coating your insides with yet another type of relief.

“This…. ugh…. So good” “It’s so hot, feels so warm… nghhh….” “Ye-yes, babe…”

Taglist of amazing babes: @awas-posts @missfuriosa @theneighbourhoodferret @cyberdazetragedy @ariesbbytings @animesnowstorm @lenablack9919

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ckret2 · 2 months ago

Note

odd question perhaps, but both in your goldilocks AU and in canon separately, what do you think Bill would smell like? Also in terms of canon, what do you think the texture of his form is? My brother seems to think he’d feel like a non-newtonian fluid. I think he feels like brick

I headcanon that canon Bill smells like ozone. Maybe a bit of burning hair smell, since that's what the Nightmare Realm canonically smells like, but I tend to think scents don't cling to him easily (and if he smelled that much like burning hair, it'd be that much harder to impress humans.) Occasional other burning scents cling to him—wood fire, charcoal fire, gas fire, it can vary, but something here is burning.

At his most solid (and he's not always solid), I think his main body feels like a gold brick—hard, smooth, metallic, oddly slick, a bit malleable if you force it—and his limbs have some kind of an exoskeleton that feels like glass—just as hard and smooth, cool to the touch, feels strangely delicate. Is not delicate at all.

(Pseudo-canon sources disagree with me on his limbs and think he's got some kind of muppety felt limbs, but just how canon do we want to treat How Not To Draw Grunkle Stan, anyway?)

Have you ever touched the glass screen of one of those old chunky CRT TVs and felt the staticky fuzz/buzz it gives off? Touching him feels like that, moreso along his main body or when he's making a deal.

However, when he's not solid, touching him feels like touching pure static, and also being several hours deep into a sunburn, and also running headlong at the Elephant's Foot while buck naked. Just stick your hand in lava, the pain will be over faster.

Most of the time he can control how agonizing he is to touch. Generally he doesn't bother to.

In fic, human Bill smells like whatever the hell soap the humans left in the bathroom and whatever the hell detergent the humans do the laundry in. So like... probably Stan's cheapo bargain bin bar soap and Mabel's shampoo. (What fragrance do you think Mabel would go for? She strikes me as a strawberry or cherry kid.) If he's been sweaty he'd smell sweaty, as you'd expect. Being Bill Cipher doesn't cause any magical influence over how he smells, his body produces the normal smell chemicals a human body produces. His captors haven't given him any power to choose how his own damn body smells (on the contrary, they've tried to take as much of that power away as possible), and he's too depressed apathetic to demand any of that power back. How can he think about something as trivial as perfume or deodorant when he has bigger problems? Like having skin???

If he were given a choice of how to fragrance his flesh prison, he'd want to smell like gasoline and hot peppers.

#anonymous #ask #bill goldilocks cipher #headcanons #bill cipher

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astrum-medeis · 2 years ago

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Your perfume based on your Venus

Hello! I recently have mentioned that y’all should try to match your perfume with your Venus. So here I come with Venus signs and what scent they remind me of.

♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

Aries/1H

Masculine scents like tobacco, gasoline, sporty perfumes

Taurus/2H

Feminine and seductive scents like vanilla, shea butter, cocoa, jasmine, sandalwood

Gemini/3H

Masculine but soft and woody scents like sandalwood, lavender

Cancer/4H

Feminine scents, cookies, vanilla, cinnamon, sea breeze, coconut scented perfume

Leo/5H

Masculine, luxurious and seductive scents, cherry, liqueur, rose, honey scented perfume

Virgo/6H

Feminine scents, fresh, floral and subtle scents

Libra/7H

Masculine and seductive scents, floral and woody scents like violets or sandalwood

Scorpio/8H

Feminine, seductive and mysterious scents like coffee, dark chocolate, smoke, blood

Sagittarius/9H

Masculine, oriental, exotic scents like orange blossom, incense

Capricorn/10H

Masculine, expensive, strong, earthy scents, eucalyptus, dirt after rain

Aquarius/11H

Masculine, unique and strange scent combinations, metallic, chlorine, fresh scents

Pisces/12H

Feminine scents, cotton candy, sweets, fruity scents

#astrology #astro observations #astro notes #astro community #astroblr #astroworld #astro posts #astro placements #venus #venus signs

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yelenasdiary · 1 year ago

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Do What You Have To Do

Pairing: Biker! Yelena Belova x Fem! Reader

Summary: Months after you made the final decision to leave your girlfriend’s illegal lifestyle, she finds you and she wants answers.

Translations: detka (baby)

Warnings: Angst, depression, isolation, Dark Thoughts, mentions of dark thoughts, language warning, mentions of drinking, mentions of guns | 1.7K

Buying a lakeside house in the mountains of Tahoe to get as far away from your now ex girlfriend and her motorcycle club wasn't easy, but you knew you had to do it. You needed a new start, a new life, a new beginning and as painful as it was, you knew you had to leave everybody you knew and loved behind. Your friends and close family members would never understand your reasonings to leave but it was better for everybody this way, at least that's what you thought.

You weren't even sure how you got to this point. At first, dating Yelena was like a dream and she made you feel so many things you had never felt before. Fast forward three years later and things weren't the same. You knew exactly what her role in her motorcycle club was, you knew exactly that things were never how they seemed, you knew the activities that went on behind the closed doors of the club. You were simply her old lady; you had a role to play. It was a lifestyle you grew to hate the more you knew about it.

So, you waited for Yelena to ride off with the others to the bigger clubhouse in Ohio before you packed your belongings and closing the door of what once was your shared home, not a single word to tell Yelena where you were going or why you were leaving, not even a note. That was seven months ago. Seven months ago, you left everything you knew behind, seven months ago since you spoke a single word to anybody you cared about, seven months ago since you left your heart behind.

You didn't make a name for yourself in your new hometown, you got a job at the local café; adopted a cat from the shelter and kept to yourself the best you could, isolating yourself from everybody around you. Only spoke when spoken too, only smiled when smiled too, only waved if waved too. It was hard to see any form of light at the end of the tunnel, you thought surely by now that Yelena would be worried or anybody for that matter, but you had to remind yourself why you left in the first place.

Seeing everybody around you look so happy and letting your mind run towards thoughts of how things might be if you weren't there anymore, you were convinced the happiness of those you loved and cared about wouldn't change and maybe that was where the idea to leave first came to mind.

Eventually you knew that you'd have to give Yelena answers for your decision. Every day you thought about the day you'd see her again, sometimes even thought about sending her a letter but would she even bother reading it? You weren't sure how she was feeling or if she even cared that you had left. That day came one Wednesday afternoon, shortly after you had finished dinner you heard the loud roaring sound of a Harley Davidson rolling up the dirt road of your driveaway. Your heart sunk to your stomach when you stepped onto your front porch and watched the blonde park her bike and remove her helmet.

"You've done well for yourself" she said as she walked up the four stairs of your front porch with a hint of pain in her voice. You took a deep breath as she came closer, the smell of her perfume mixed with gasoline and cigarettes took you back to the last time you saw her. Just looking into her eyes, you knew she was hiding the hurt you caused.

"How'd you find me?" You asked, your arms crossed over your stomach.

"It wasn't easy, but I had Darcy run your old credit card details, found you purchased a place here before you cancelled the card" she replied with a slight frown in her brows. "So, are you going to let me in?" She asked. You nodded and moved aside to allow her to enter your home first.

She took her time walking down the short hall to the opened living era, she noticed how the walls remained plain, not a single photo frame in sight. The silence was awkward, you were sure what to say but you knew by her body language that Yelena had a lot she wanted to say and all you could thing of was offering her a beer.

"Do you want a beer?" You asked, watching as she pulled a chair out from the dining table and making herself at home. She only nodded in reply and waited for you to crack open a cold beer for her.

"Why are you scared?" She asked before sipping her drink, "you're the one who left me without as much as a note!" She added, letting her anger fill her words.

"I couldn't leave you a note, you know that" you replied without thinking it through.

"What's that's supposed to mean?" Yelena frowned.

"Oh, come on, do you really think if I left the more traditional way that you would've let me?"

"Don't give me that shit, nobody was holding a gun to your head!" Yelena snapped; her eyes full of build up rage from her unanswered questions. Sure, she's raised her voice at you before whenever the two of you had gotten into an argument, but this felt different.

"Yelena, don't turn this back on me! I left for my own good! I needed too, it was what was best for me" you shot back, remembering the reasons you left.

"What was best for you? Y/n, you never even spoke to me about any of this! I never knew you wanted to leave! How the fuck did you think I felt huh?" Yelena's eyes searched yours for questions she was yet to ask but she couldn't see past her anger to see the real issue.

"How long did it even take you to realise I was gone?" You asked her bluntly causing her to sit back in her seat, the room filling with silence once again. "It's been seven months Yelena, so tell me!" You added. The silence answering one of your own questions.

"I tho-thought you went to visit your grandparents for a while" the biker eventually replied, "I wasn't sure when you left, fuck, I was gone for two weeks on that trip! But when your number was disconnected, I knew you left me" she added before leaning slightly forward, "what happened to us? Why did you leave?" she asked. Her tone was calm, but the pain was still there and for a moment, you lost yourself in her eyes like you always did.

"Because you left me long before I left" you admitted with tears filling your eyes. "You used to come home to me Yelena, you used to call me to tell me you were okay but then you just stopped. The club became more important, you started risking your life for stupid reasons and the parties? You didn't even look twice at me anymore. That club is your family, and I became your old lady, the one who did your dirty laundry and made you dinner incase you'd come home" you added, letting the stream of tears roll down your face.

Naturally, Yelena reached for your hands, wishing she had seen the signs before it was too late. "Detka" she spoke softly, the pet name bringing you a sense of comfort like it always did, "why didn't you say something?" She asked.

"It wouldn't have made a difference Lena, you forgot about me, just like everybody else did. For months I blamed myself, maybe I wasn't good enough, maybe if I involved myself into the club more or maybe if I was more like the other women that things would've been different. I was scared to leave, I know what you and the others do, I know it's not legal…I was scared that if I left you would've made sure I never left again" your words opened Yelena's mind to her behavior, and she hated herself for putting you through this. "I had to leave" you added.

Yelena shook her head in disbelief at the words that left your lips, "are you really telling me that you were scared of me?" she asked, her tone stern to hide the hurt that your feelings had on her. You hated to admit it but you nodded, "can you blame me? You've changed Lena. Ever since Nat stepped back from the club and gave you more responsibilities, you've become distance, cold and yeah, I'm scared" you paused, letting your eyes drop, "I don't know what else to tell you" you added.

After taking a mouthful of her beer and swallowing harshly, Yelena rose from her chair, "Well, I guess that's all I need to know" she replied with another shake of her head before making her way to the front door. You frowned slightly at her actions before following her, "That's it?" you asked, stopping her from taking another step. Yelena stopped and turned slightly to look at you over her shoulder, not enough to make eye contact.

"There isn't anything to say, you're scared of me and you left without wanting to even leave me a clue to as why. You did this for yourself, you made this new life for yourself. I'm not going to convince you to come back to me, not when you've just admitted that you're scared of me" she paused and turned fully to face you, "I would never, ever put a hand on you or put in any form of danger" she added, a tear rolling down her cheek.

Maybe you were wrong to leave, maybe you stupidly let your overthinking thoughts get the better of you. You hated to see Yelena look so defeated but for some reason you weren't sure why, you couldn't say a single word in reply. You just watched as she walked out the door and down the stairs before turning to look back at you once more, "I'm sorry you felt that way. I hope you whatever you do, you enjoy it and are happy" she spoke before walking towards her motorcycle.

You broke, tears filled your eyes as you heard her start up her motorbike one last time, revving it a few times before she took off down the driveway, hearing the distance roaring of her bike leaving you behind just like she did seven months ago.

A part of you left with her that day, a part of you that you wished stayed but you knew that your heart would always belong to Yelena, together or not.

#yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #fanfiction #marvel #black widow #white widow #Biker! Yelena

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metalichotchoco · 2 months ago

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Ever since I found out that my baby girl Edgar has an actual high end perfume based on him Miguel matos’ “electric dreams” I thought it could be fun to talk about what some other computers would smell like based on their personalities, stories and overall vibes.

Since Edgar has a perfume already I might as well talk about it

Released in 2021, they describe this scent as being “digital hormones” and trying to understand an emotion and failing at it, which works well for Edgar very well. Electric dreams as a whole lives in the pre internet age of the 80s and how hopeful that dream of the future was in the minds of the people. I love that they included the cheap champagne that miles spills on Edgar as a note here. The other scents are contextualized with the youth of the 80s, strawberry gum and tutti frutti soda, plastic flowers and clean laundry. Even the part where Edgar overheats at the end is in the smoke note. It’s categorized as chypre fruity and I think some other scents fit Edgar very well.

In love with everything by imaginary authors is glitzy and bright almost like those arcade cabinets introduced in the era.its based on the young adults of the time specifically the women, the joys of recklessness. Inexhaustible enthusiasm. To me Edgar is a sugar sweet summer.

Edgar is characterized by the era he was born in, something actually a lot of sentient computers share. As technology morphs and evolves with humanity, our ideas and outlooks also change with it. Electric dreams is coated in the neon lit nostalgia of the 80s, and in a weird twist of fate its legacy is of the 80s as well. The commercialism of it as a whole is what’s remembered most prominently, the song that was made for the movie has outlived its original context. Honorable mentions to age of innocence by Toskovat but I don’t think the rubber or gasoline notes fit him well. Fantômas by Nasomatto is pretty good being a fruity clearly fake fragrance though the gunpowder might be a bit much.

Moving forward, let’s talk about HAL

While technically she was an anomaly by Etat Libre d’Orange makes direct reference to him and his most iconic line, this scent is based on the marriage of Nina Simone and Stanley Kubrick. If hal was human in any shape or form this fragrance would be a generally good fit, as it’s clean professional and one of those your skin but better scents that’s prefect for workplaces.

Eu de space from nasa could work pretty well though it’s not exact. This is a photorealistic space scent with metals and plastics and ozone notes but Hal isn’t directly in space, he’s what the ship would smell like. The burnt sweet quality doesn’t mix well with how pristine and rigid the character is. Spacewalk by Demeter also has a bit of similar problem being a bit too sweet but the soapiness does add points in my opinion. Hal is the sharpness of metal and ozone on your nose to me, not the smell of a hospital or sanitizer but the smell of something newly plastic. Skiing on Europa could be that but unfortunately it’s a little more niche.

Last but not least for now, let’s talk about am, there’s so many different ways to go with am, none being particularly good smelling but there’s so much you could do for him. You can go with the fact that he’s the whole planet, add in soil, rock,gasoline as accords, you can do the religious angle that he has that can pair well with other ideas, use wine or incense and wax like in with the candlestick by clue, you can do blood, sweat, tears and skin to represent the survivors who are now a part of him. Warm electronics, tar, gunpowder there’s so many distinct parts of him.

I think that the two I’m going to single out in terms of perfume are ones that take inspiration from what am’s original function was which is war. And that’s inexcusable evil by toskovat and Molotov cocktail by sylhouette perfumes

Inexcusable evil is infamous in the fragrance and perfume world for its incredibly strong violent smell, it’s a hospital ward ravaged by war. That is its story. Memories that are lost to the tide of battle. “The next war will decide not what is right but what is left.”

Molotov cocktail goes more personal but is still a war scent, the top notes are gasoline,vodka and pepper. the middle notes are blood sweat and rubber and the base is metal, iodine, musk and leather. More animalic and close but both work on the scales that am is a threat in, he’s both a world ender but also a personal tormentor, he spans the globe but also cannot leave his confinement

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